


Types of Space

by FreshBrains



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Han Solo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Leia Organa, Omega Luke Skywalker, Snark, Tight Spaces, Trapped, Tumblr: JediPrompts, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5830954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’ve got seven square feet of space, two Hutts keeping guard, your damn sister negotiating with a Twi’Lek trader two systems away, <i>and</i> you’re going into heat. All we need is the damn droid in here with his scathing commentary on how “horribly unfortunate” this all is.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Types of Space

**Author's Note:**

> For the Tumblr [JediPrompts](http://jediprompts.tumblr.com/post/137279047905/han-luke-week-25th-29th-january-during-this) Skysolo Week prompt: Trapped.

“It could be worse,” Luke says, voice cool and easy. He’s flattened against the back wall of the cell, arms crossed over his chest, chin jutting out indignantly as Han paces the small space.

Han snaps to attention. “It could be _worse_? That’s all you’ve got, Jedi Knight?” He shakes his head, trying to knock some sense into his own skull, but all it does it get him another strong whiff of his mate’s scent—his _heat_ scent, coming through like the smell of Corellian summers, like spice smoke, only natural. “We’ve got seven square feet of space, two Hutts keeping guard, your damn sister negotiating with a Twi’Lek trader two systems away, _and_ you’re going into heat. All we need is the damn droid in here with his scathing commentary on how “horribly unfortunate” this all is.”

“Leia can still sense we’re in trouble,” Luke says calmly. “She’s actually pretty mad. It sounds like her own heat has been triggered.”

Han throws his hands in the air. “Great. Twins in heat. If I hadn’t seen the holovid, I’d think it was a myth.”

“Don’t be like that,” Luke says, rolling his eyes. He slides down the wall to sit, even though the dirty floor isn’t very inviting. Han bristles—there’s that protective ache in his chest that knows Luke deserves a nice bed in a nice inn (or, at least, a nice Han in their bunk on the Falcon), and despite his best efforts, he can’t give that to him. “Besides, this is _your_ fault. I wasn’t due for another six days, but you just had to go and arm-wrestle that old Durosian friend of yours right in front of me.” He tosses his head, avoiding eye contact like the little shit he is.

“Oh, isn’t _that_ convenient,” Han gripes. “Blame the alpha, as per usual.” He’d never admit Luke was right, but Luke was definitely right. There’s something about having the last Jedi as a mate that gets him all worked up, especially when they walk into an outpost or onto a transport ship and the crowds of people hush for half a second when they see Luke all dressed in black with a lightsaber at his hip. He’s undeniably handsome and mysterious, kind and sweet, and desirable in every way.

And he’s _Han’s_. Only Han’s.

“Not this again,” Luke says archly. “You’re projecting so loudly I’m surprised the guards can’t hear you.” He holds out his hand, beckoning Han to sit with him. “I _am_ yours. You don’t have to keep reminding yourself.”

Han closes his eyes in an attempt to slow his breathing. No matter how calm Luke remains, he’s still close to heat—Han can smell the sweat on his skin, see the shudder of arousal in the set of shoulders. “If we were on Tatooine still, our clothes would already be off.”

Luke smiles, biting his lip. “Don’t remind me.” Their first heat together had been a disaster—unmated and unbonded, they still knew they were compatible, even though Han hadn’t rutted in three years and Luke was a virgin. They spent it in a crappy inn during a sandstorm, wrapped in each other’s sweaty arms, shaking and groaning and giving accidental bruises, trying not to strangle each other in frustration as they rode it out. Of course, Luke had changed so much over the course of his training—there was no more impatience, no more spontaneity in their matings. It was all closeness and shared breath, open minds, bodies practically fused as one.

Han thought it was kind of kinky. “Hey, you know I’ve always liked a bit of strange.”

“I prefer calling it _romantic_ ,” Luke says dryly. He shivers a little, curling into Han’s side. “But no matter how you slice it, this really sucks.”

Han presses his nose into Luke’s hair, breathing in his scent. “Whatever you need, I’m right here. I’m your guy. It doesn’t matter where we are.”

“I know,” Luke says, voice small. More than anything, he hates feeling out of control. Han knows that better than anyone. He takes off his jacket and wraps it around Luke’s shoulders. “Just hold me for now.”

Han nods, but he’s unsettled. He knows that in two hours’ time, Luke will get restless—his fever will spike, his senses will sharpen. He’ll start to _beg_. And Han might be an alpha, but he’s no asshole. He has no desire to see his mate humiliated in a cold cell with no blankets or pillows or water or anything else an omega needs during a heat. “We’re gonna be fine, kid. We’ve always made it out fine, right?”

Luke doesn’t answer. He slips into meditation, which he remains in for an hour, until he begins to stir in Han’s arms. Han’s not one for slipping into a happy place, but he’s rock-hard just by being close to his mate, and he’s struggling not to tug Luke onto the floor and taste every inch of his skin.

“We’ll be okay,” he says, the words strangled. _This rock really sucks_ , he thinks as Luke whimpers, nosing at Han’s collarbone. _I really, really hate this stupid planet right now._ He can barely remember what _system_ they’re in as Luke slides into his lap, knees on either side of Han’s hips, and rolls his body down onto Han’s. “We’ll be…okay…”

As if on cue, there’s the unmistakable noise of blaster fire against duracrete outside the cell, along with an angry wail. Luke snaps out of his reverie, head turning towards the barred door.

“See? We’re fine,” Han says, even though he practically sighs with relief at the sound of Chewie’s voice. He’s still painfully hard, but now he can hear Leia yelling at one of the guards to stand down, and he _really_ doesn’t want to be popping one in front of the princess and who the hell knows who else on the other side of that door. “Up and at ‘em, kid.”

Chewie barrels into the room in a shower of duracrete dust, the latch practically ripped from the door. _Give me the cub_ , he says, bypassing Han completely to gather Luke into his arms.

“Nice to see you too,” Han grumbles, but he’s never been happier to see his friend.

“Han,” Luke says softly, reaching out for his mate as Chewie carries him out.

“Right here,” Han says, taking Luke’s hand.

“Cuddling later, fighting _now_ ,” Leia yells from down the dank corridor where she’s got a blaster in one hand and Luke’s lightsaber in the other. “Add thanking Leia Organa to the list, too.” She’s got a sheen of sweat on her forehead and her long skirt is tucked into her leggings—she’s heading into heat as well, though not as far gone as her brother. Since she chooses to spend hers alone, Han will give her the Falcon and get a room at a specialty inn on Coruscant for him and Luke. “My belt,” she says, ticking her head to the side where there’s a spare blaster at her waist.

“Got it,” Han says, retrieving the weapon. As boots sound from down the hall, he and Leia steel themselves to fire, shielding Chewie and Luke, but despite it all, Han feels a smile creep to his face. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”


End file.
